


Can't Buy Me Love

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M, The stripper AU and bachelor party that nobody wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: “Oh hell no.” Faraday snaps with more venom than Goodnight can understand. He’s got a half-empty beer in one hand and Vasquez in the other since the man had decided to climb into his lap at least two drinks ago. “You put that away, missy. I ain’t gettin’ arrested tonight because you don’t know how to behave at a bachelor party.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts), [MistMarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMarauder/gifts).



> Okay, before reading this you all need to know the following.
> 
> 1) This is dancinbutterfly's fault.  
> 2) THIS IS DANCINBUTTERFLY'S FAULT!  
> 3) No, really, she came up with the idea, the title and Ethel and the Marias. I just put words to her madness.  
> 4) It is also slightly Mistmarauder's fault because she's a filthy enabler.

Goodnight’s tinkering away at the piano in his living room when he hears the tell-tale sound of a key turning in the lock of his front door. He’s maybe a little more blasé about this than he should be, considering that he lives alone, but he’d made sure Sam had a spare key months ago, secure in the knowledge that he would never use it for ill will.

Still, he can’t help but call out mockingly, “You know I didn’t give that to you so you could break in here willy nilly whenever you felt like, Sam Chisolm. I decidedly remember telling you it was for emergencies only.”

“Anything with you is an emergency if you try hard enough, Goody,” Sam says in that dry way of his. And here some people thought the man didn’t have a sense of humor.

Pulling his hands away from the keys, Goodnight closes the hatch of the piano and spins around on the seat so that he can see where Sam is standing in the doorway to the living room, wearing the kind of expression that suggests butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Goodnight is instantly suspicious of that expression. “I’m almost afraid to ask why you’re here.”

Sam grins at him, and Goodnight is no less suspicious of this than he was the last look on the man’s face. “Now now, Goody, I just happen to be here with an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Goodnight echoes, his suspicions ramping up ever higher. “Dare I ask to what?”

Wandering into the room, Sam drops down onto Goodnight’s couch and folds his hands over his stomach, twiddling his thumbs innocently. Goodnight doesn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. “You know Faraday and Vasquez?”

Goodnight blinks. “You mean Faraday and Vasquez who we see roughly once or twice a week? You mean everybody’s favorite mouthy magician gambler and his lanky reprobate boyfriend-turned-somehow-inexplicably-fiancé? You mean the same pair where we all took bets on who would kill who back when they first moved in together? That Faraday and Vasquez?”

“Yep.”

“Nope. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of them.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I thought it was,” Goodnight shoots back. “Now, why are we talking about them? What do you mean you have an invitation involving them?” He blinks. “Is it an actual wedding invitation by any chance? Because the one I have is scrawled on a napkin that Faraday balled up and threw at my head. The street name in the address is spelled wrong, and I’m pretty sure someone spilled beer on it before the night was out.”

Sam makes a face like he’s praying for patience; though whether that’s because of Goodnight’s rambling diatribe or Joshua Faraday’s everything Goodnight doesn’t know. “Sadly, it is not that kind of invitation.”

Warning bells are going off in Goodnight’s head, and his voice is cautious when he says, “Then what kind of invitation is it?”

“You remember the Boardwalk Café? That place Red mentioned he worked at way back when he was getting his second degree?”

It takes Goodnight a second to place it, and when he does his eyes widen in alarm. “Oh no.” He says.

“Oh yes,” Sam replies with relish.

“The all-male strip club?” Goodnight yelps. “Which of those two fools came up with that idea?”

“Who says it was either of them?” Sam asks. He shakes his head. “Nah, they don’t have a clue we’re planning this, but I’m sure they’ll both get a kick out of it.”

“We?” Goodnight repeats. “Sam, _we_ are not planning sweet fuck all. _You_ are planning something that is only going to end in tears.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sam agrees, not sounding upset in the slightest. “Especially once you hear who else is on the guest list.”

“Oh god,” Goodnight groans, even though he’s curious in spite of himself. “Sam, what have you done?”

“Uh uh,” Sam says firmly. “I’m not telling you until you agree you’ll come.”

Goodnight frowns at him, unimpressed. “Well now that’s not fair. You’ve deliberately perked up my curiosity, and you know it. I thought you were better than this, Sam.”

“No, you didn’t.” Sam says confidently. “Are you in or not?”

Goodnight sighs. “You know I can’t drink with the meds I’m on, right?”

“That just means you’ll be better able to enjoy the show.” Sam assures him. “And by that I mean the show our friends are going to put on, forget about the strippers.”

“Oh alright,” Goodnight says. He throws up his hands and hangs his head in defeat. “I’m in. Now tell me what other secret machinations you’ve got up your sleeve.”

Sam smiles the smile of a man who knows he’s done a terrible thing and couldn’t care less about it. “I’m bringing Ethel and the Marias.”

Goodnight stares at him. “ _All_ of the Marias?” He asks, aghast.

“ _All_ of the Marias,” Sam confirms.

“Oh my lord, _Sam Chisolm_.” Goodnight scrubs a hand through his hair while his mind simultaneously plays out a dozen different versions of all the ways this could go wrong. “Vasquez might just kill you, and Faraday _definitely_ will.”

Sam just smiles back, totally unconcerned.

*****

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Faraday grouses when they pull up outside of the club. Beside him, Vasquez starts laughing, cackling so hard he has to lean against Faraday to keep himself from toppling over onto the pavement.

“Seriously?” Faraday asks, even as he hooks an arm around Vasquez’s waist, easily holding him upright. “Which one of you clowns came up with this idea?” He frowns. “It was you wasn’t it, Emma?”

Standing on Vasquez’ other side, Emma shakes her head adamantly in denial. Then she shoots Faraday an obnoxious grin and loops her arm around Vasquez’s free one in a move guaranteed to set Faraday growling. “Not me, Joshua,” she says sweetly, “but if I’d known it would annoy you I’d have been on it in a heartbeat.”

True to form, Faraday pulls his lips back off his teeth in the start of a snarl, and poor Vasquez is forced to intervene between his partner and his best friend for what has to be roughly the millionth time by Goodnight’s count.

“This isn’t the kind of plan Emma would come up with, guero,” he says, pulling his arm free of Emma’s grasp and swiping at his eyes in amusement. “She wouldn’t have had the patience to keep it hidden.”

“I really wouldn’t have,” Emma agrees. “Anyway, my money’s on Sam being the mastermind behind this mess. This has him written all over it.”

“It concerns me how good you are at predicating my plans, Ms. Cullen,” Sam says with a laugh, tipping an imaginary hat in Emma’s direction.

Emma drops him a short, mocking curtsy in return. “It’s all down to my keen observational skills, Mr. Chisolm.”

“Oh gag me,” Faraday mutters, yelping a little when Vasquez knuckles him in the side.

“Be nice, guero,” Vasquez tells him.

“Well isn’t this night is off to a rousing start?” Goodnight asks, muttering low under his breath.

He doesn’t think anyone heard him, which is why he’s startled when Red bumps him gently in the shoulder and says, “Are you surprised?”

Goodnight turns to look at him and shrugs. “I suppose not. Though I had hoped we’d at least be inside the building before degenerating into our usual spats and arguments.”

“Then you’ve set the bar for your expectations too high, Goody,” Jack says, wandering over to Goodnight’s other side. He’s got Leni tucked under one arm, and they’re both watching as Faraday berates Sam for bringing him to strip club when he’s on the eve of becoming a married man.

“He knows we, like, know him on a personal level, doesn’t he?” Leni asks, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, does he honestly expect us to assume he’s making anything other than a token protest right now?”

“Who cares?” Red asks. He holds up his phone, which Goodnight can see is in video mode and set to record. “The important thing is that we’re going to get enough blackmail material to last a lifetime tonight.”

“Jesus!” Goodnight hisses, rapping him lightly on one heavily muscled arm. “Put that away, would you? At least until we’re inside, anyway. Otherwise we’ll wind up with Faraday starting a brawl in the middle of the street that results in half of us ending up in the hospital and the rest down at the police station cooling our heels in the drunk tank. _Again_.”

Red sighs, but puts the phone away for the time being. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m the designated driver. I’m not supposed to be fun.”

“Okay,” Red says, rolling his eyes. “First of all, you’re only one of the designated drivers because we came in two cars and therefore needed a second one, who for the record is me. Second of all, being the designated driver doesn’t mean you have to extinguish your entire sense of humour. Lighten up a little.”

“This from the man who pretended he didn’t speak English for the first week he knew most of us,” Leni reminds him.

Red shrugs. “Sam knew what I was up to,” he says, like this somehow makes it better.

Goodnight considers telling him how ridiculous he sounds and then thinks better of it. It’s been years since that particular stunt had taken place. Red hadn’t shown any remorse at the time, and he’s so far failed to give any indication he’s feeling some now.

“Fine,” Goodnight says with a sigh. “Now does anybody else think we may as well get this show on the road?”

“If by show you mean train wreck, then I do,” Leni tells him. She shivers a little in the crisp evening air, even though she’s managed to steal Jack’s coat sometime when Goodnight wasn’t looking. “At least if we have to watch this happen we can be warm and surrounded by attractive, scantily-clad men while we do it.”

“Your priorities concern me.” Goodnight informs her, earning himself a shrug in response.

He turns back around and faces the rest of their group. “Hey, Sam,” he calls. “Don’t you think we ought to be moving this mess inside now? The more time we waste out here, the less we’ll have for whatever else you have planned later on.”

“There’s more?” Faraday asks, and Goodnight doesn’t think he’s imagining the note of trepidation in his voice. “Jesus fuck, Sam. What did you do?”

“Something you will remember forever, I’m sure.” Sam says. “Yep, I feel safe in saying that someday you’ll be sitting in an old folks home, probably with no hair and even less teeth, and you’ll still be able to picture this night perfectly.”

There’s a long, weighted pause, and then Vasquez pipes up.

“Alright, even I’m getting concerned now.”

*****

“Oh my.” Emma blinks her eyes rapidly and then shifts to look at Vasquez who is in turn staring at the quintet of women clustered around the table they’ve just been ushered over to. “I don’t think the word concerned did this situation justice.”

Vasquez makes a face that not even Goodnight has the words to describe. Next to him, Faraday has his head buried in his hands and is repeating a quiet mantra of, “This isn’t happening, this isn’t fucking happening,” over and over again.

“Oh it’s happening, Joshua,” Faraday’s ancient and grizzled aunt Ethel says from her place at the table. Beside her, her slightly less ancient but still just as grizzled sister Maria nods decisively. Between them Goodnight figures they’ve got a combined age of about a hundred and sixty, maybe a little higher. They are without a doubt the most noticeable people in this club.

“Honestly, Joshua,” Maria adds, undeterred in the face of her nephew’s scandalized protestations. “We’re here to show you that we love you and support you and all your life decisions. You needn’t sound so upset about us being here.”

“Also this place is full of utterly delicious young men,” Ethel adds appreciatively. She gives Faraday a frosty glare. “You’ve already inexplicably managed to land one of those and should therefore be more willing to share with the rest of us.”

Faraday makes a sound like a dying animal and Vasquez pats him on the back sympathetically before turning to give his own relatives the stink eye. “What are you three doing here? I will tell Abuela about this, don’t think I won’t.”

Goodnight has met Vasquez’s sister, cousin and youngest aunt before, each of them on multiple occasions. To this day he’s still partly convinced they’re fucking with him when they all claim to be named Maria, but if it is a lie it’s one they’re all dedicated to sticking to.

Vasquez’s sister lets out a pointed and over-exaggerated yawn, her teeth flashing brightly in the pulsing lights of the club as she gives her brother a grin and meets his unimpressed stare head on. “What do you think we’re going here, idiota? We’re here to look at the pretty men and watch you embarrass yourself. Obviamente.”

Her brother glares at her. “You are too young to be in here.”

She matches him glare for glare. “I’m fifteen minutes younger than you, Alejandro. Get over it!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” says Maria the aunt. Or at least Goodnight thinks she’s Maria the aunt. She’s the youngest of the twin’s mother’s siblings and she’s not much older than any of her nieces and nephews. It can make figuring out who’s who somewhat difficult. “Someone get Alejandro a drink before he starts sulking. Joshua too.”

“There is not enough alcohol in the world to make up for this,” Faraday groans, even as he sits down heavily at the table. He starts to let his head fall forward towards the polished wood, only to be thwarted in his efforts when Vasquez grabs him by the back of the shirt collar and hauls him away.

“No, guero. Who knows how clean that thing is?”

“Oh I’m sure it’s fine,” Ethel says, giving the table a little pat. “If you want to talk about a filthy strip club, let me tell you about this one I was in back in ’69. God as my witness you wouldn’t have wanted to let the smallest patch of skin come into contact with anything in there.”

Faraday turns around in his seat and takes two fistfuls of Vasquez’s shirt in his hands. “We need to leave,” he says seriously, giving the taller man a little shake with each word. “We need to leave and possibly move to a remote island where no one knows us and therefore won’t find out about this.”

“They’d just track us down,” Vasquez assures him, prying Faraday’s fingers off him one by one. “What we need is every drink in this building. That way we’ll forget everything that happens tonight.”

Faraday appears to think about this for a moment. “Maybe we’ll even get brain damage,” he says brightly.

Vasquez pats him gently on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, guero.” He turns and eyes the very colorful drink his sister has gripped in her hand. “You have five seconds to hand that to me or I’m telling Mama _exactly_ what happened to that vase she used to keep in the dining room.”

Maria gives him a glare that Goodnight would do just about anything to avoid ever having directed at him, but hands her brother her drink without comment. In turn Vasquez picks it up, eyes it warily for a second or two, though what his problem is with it Goodnight couldn’t hope to guess, and then knocks the entire thing back in three massive gulps.

Goodnight turns to look at Sam. “I assume the night is progressing as you’d hoped?”

Sam just smiles sunnily back at him and takes a seat of his own.

*****

Goodnight figures they’ve been there for a little less than an hour when Ethel pulls a tiny change purse, complete with the requisite pearl handclasp, out of her bag and snaps it open. Faraday is well on his way to drunk and Vasquez has already passed him, but her nephew still spits out a mouthful of beer at the sight.

“Oh _hell no_.” Faraday snaps with more venom than Goodnight can understand. He’s got a half-empty beer in one hand and Vasquez in the other since the man had decided to climb into his lap at least two drinks ago. “You put that _away_ , missy. I ain’t gettin’ arrested tonight because _you_ don’t know how to behave at a bachelor party.”

Ethel gives him a glare and says primly, “Joshua if you think this isn’t how people behave at a bachelor party then you’ve obviously never been to one.”

Faraday groans, something he’s been doing non-stop tonight, and buries his face in Vasquez’s shoulder. “Vasss, make her stop.”

Vasquez pulls his latest cocktail, this one swiped from Maria the cousin, away from his face and cranes his neck to look at Faraday. “Do you honestly think I’m sober enough for that? I don’t think I could do it even if I wasn’t drunk, which,” he sways a little and shakes his head, “oh, I really am.”

Ethel reaches across the table and pats his arm with one veiny hand. “You’re a good boy, Alejandro. Much too good for my obnoxious nephew here.”

“Hey!” Faraday protests. He reaches around Vasquez’s bulk and swats her hand away. “Paws off, you harpy.”

Ethel makes a ‘tetching’ sound and swats him right back. “Ungrateful brat. I thought we taught you better than that.”

“We tried,” Maria the aunt on the Faraday side reminds her, “but he was a lost cause from the get go.” She cocks her head at her sister. “Do you need a light for that?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” Ethel assures her, and as Goodnight watches she pulls what is unmistakably a joint out of the change purse, followed by a lighter with an honest to god flaming skull and crossbones on it.

“I am learning so much about Faraday tonight,” Goodnight tells the table at large. “Honestly, everything about him is beginning to make so much more sense. It’s a horrifying kind of sense, mind you, but sense nevertheless.”

“What I’m learning is that he’s apparently the voice of reason in his family,” Emma says, her voice almost drowned out by Faraday loudly exclaiming, “Aunt Ethel this is _not_ the time.” She’s barely halfway through her first drink, she’s so intent on watching the impromptu show that’s going on before them, and not the one on the stage either.

“I know,” Goodnight says. “Who in the world would have thought that was possible?”

“Not me,” Red says. As promised he’s got his phone back out and is happily filming away. “Honestly, I’m thinking I may edit this for length and then play it at their wedding reception.”

“They’re still fighting over whether or not they’re even going to have a reception.” Emma says absently. “Faraday keeps saying eloping sounds like a much better idea.”

“Can you blame him?” Goodnight asks. He gestures at where Faraday is trying to wrestle the lighter out of Ethel’s hand, and at the same time keep Vasquez from pitching out of his lap and onto the floor. “I’d have headed for the hills years ago if I had to deal with this on a regular basis.”

Across from him, Maria Faraday joins the debacle by trying to wallop her nephew’s arm with an umbrella she’s pulled out from who knows where. “Joshua, leave it be! What’s the harm?”

Faraday yelps and pulls his arm back. “You mean aside from it being a felony?” He demands.

“It’s not a felony, Joshua!” Ethel exclaims, shooting him a dirty look. “It’s medicinal! It’s for my glaucoma!”

“You don’t _have_ glaucoma!” Faraday bellows. “And even if you did, you don’t treat that shit with fuckin’ weed!”

“Oh what do you know, Joshua? Did you go and get a medical degree when we weren’t looking? No? I didn’t think so!”

“I – there are no words for this,” Goodnight decides. “Absolutely no words.” He leans over so he can snag Sam’s attention. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

Sam shakes his head. “Goody, I did not have a _clue_ this was even on the radar and I regret nothing.” He takes a swig of his own drink and shakes his head in admiration. “Do you think we can convince her to order a lap dance?”

“I most definitely do,” Goodnight says fervently, “but I’m equally sure that Faraday will have an aneurysm right here at this table if it comes to that. Are you sure you want that on your conscience?”

Sam grins at him over the edge of his bottle. “Not yet, but ask me that again after I’ve had a couple more drinks.”

Goodnight’s just about to list the varied and numerous reasons why that is a terrible idea and why he won’t be participating in it when the music suddenly ramps up and drags him away from the conversation. They’d arrived early enough in that night that so far the shows have been on the tame side, but now it sounds like things are about to pick up. As he watches a line of half a dozen distressingly attractive men comes slinking out from behind the curtain in time to the music.

“Oh my,” Ethel breathes, her battle with Faraday over the joint apparently forgotten in the wake of seeing so much flesh on display. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Where have they been keeping these ones all night?”

“Backstage,” her sister says, rolling her eyes.

“Maria, so help me, I will light this joint simply for the express purpose of putting it out in your hair. I don’t care how flammable all that hairspray will have it.”

“Shh,” Faraday hisses at her, his attention firmly on the dancers. Even Vasquez appears to have roused from his drunken stupor enough to look interested.

“Don’t you shush me, Joshua. I’ve been waiting ages for something worth looking at.” She cocks her head to the side and eyes the lineup, considering. “The problem is now I can’t decide who I like best. Maybe the cutie on the far left.”

“You should wait to decide,” Maria says knowingly. “A lineup like this, you just know they’re saving the best for last somewhere.”

“True, that’s a good point. Just like that bunch in Reno in …”

“’75.” Maria replies, and Goodnight firmly resolves to never ask the Faraday women for stories from their history. “Yeah, that was a gooood night.”

Then she flashes Goodnight a grin and a wink because it seems she’s fond of puns on top of being terrible in every other respect as well.

Vasquez leans back in his place on Faraday’s lap and hums thoughtfully. “What would it take,” he asks seriously, “to get you to do that for me?”

Faraday chokes on his drink a little but then makes an intrigued face. “I don’t think I’m that flexible, sweetheart.” He says finally. “Honestly, you’d probably be better at it than me. You’re not as bulky and you can bend better.”

Maria the sister makes a horrified face and lets out a gagging noise. “Oh my god, Joshua! You can’t say things like that.”

“I’m gonna marry him, ‘Ria,” Faraday shoots back. “Been with him for years already too. What do you think we do at home all night? Play the Wii?”

“Well we do that sometimes,” Vasquez adds helpfully. “But,” here he turns around and grins at Faraday, who returns it gleefully, “that’s hardly the only thing we do.”

“They are going to start making out in 3 … 2 … 1. Called it.” Emma raises a triumphant hand as the lip lock commences. “Never let it be said I can’t predict that shit.”

“Ugh,” Maria turns pointedly away from her brother and focuses on the dancers. “Someone order me a lap dance so I can make him as miserable as he’s making me.”

“Five will get you ten he won’t even notice at this point,” Maria the aunt says, giving her arm a sympathetic pat.

Distracted as he is by the show his own friends are putting on; Goodnight misses it when the announcer heralds the arrival of the final dancer. He knows something’s happening by the way the music ramps up, but the actual wording is lost on him as he turns to watch.

Then he’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

The new dancer is … tiny, yet somehow gives off the air of being so much larger than he is. He moves less like he’s dancing and more like he’s fighting, which strangely enough brings a smile to Goodnight’s face. If asked he doesn’t think he’d be able to explain it, even with his vaunted vocabulary, but he feels drawn to the man so that all the other dancers fade away and it’s just the two of them left in the room.

“Good lord,” somebody at the table says, and Goodnight realizes belatedly it was him.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Ethel says when he starts to sputter. She gives a full body shake. “Good lord, indeed. Alright, I want that one. Somebody get his attention.”

“Ethel, you have to be three times his age,” Maria scolds. Then she pats her hair, making sure it’s perfectly in place. “I’m younger, let him come to me.”

Goodnight watches in horror as she opens up her purse in anticipation of pulling out who knows what, and in desperation kicks Faraday under on the table.

“Ow!” Vasquez snaps, pulling away from Faraday and hunching over to rub at his leg. His hisses something no doubt incredibly rude in Spanish and glares over at Goodnight. “What the fuck, cabrón?”

Goodnight would say he’s sorry for hitting the wrong person but he’s not so he doesn’t. Instead, he jabs an accusing finger at Ethel and Maria. “Control your future in-laws, man!”

Vasquez, still rubbing his leg sulkily, turns to pout at Faraday, who shrugs. “Don’t look at me. No one controls them.”

“Ugh,” Goodnight huffs and turns back to look at the dancer, his heart jumping in his chest when he sees that the man is off the stage and moving through the tables, his lithe body twisting every which way as he flits from one spot to another.

“Oh look, he’s coming over her,” Ethel says, delighted. “How much to you think a private dance costs?”

“More than you can afford where he’s concerned,” Red tells her.

Ethel sniffs. “Young man, you have no idea what I can or cannot afford. Maria hand me my purse, I’m sure I’ve got some loose bills in there.”

Faraday lets out a horrified noise and makes a desperate lunge across the table, one made all the more difficult by the fact that Vasquez is between him and his aunt. The move startles his partner who winds up squished in between the table top and Faraday’s flailing body, and the impact send the drink in Vasquez’s hand flying. Luckily, thanks to his steady progression through the night, the glass is mostly empty and Leni is able to deal with the mess by mopping it up with the sleeve of Jack’s coat.

“This just keeps getting better,” Red says with a snicker that’s mostly drowned out by Jack’s protest over using his fur coat as a washcloth.

“Oh please,” Leni exclaims in exasperation. “This thing has seen far worse than beer spilled on it, you overgrown ox. Don’t front.”

Jack continues to grumble, but Goodnight’s distracted by Ethel, who has successfully managed to fend Faraday off by switching seats with her sister and is now waving her purse triumphantly in the air. “Take that, Joshua!”

“You are eighty four years old!” Faraday barks, his voice going higher with each word, to the point that Vasquez winces and moves his ear further away from the other man’s mouth. “There’s no guarantee a lap dance won’t kill you.”

“I can think of far worse ways to go out.” Ethel informs him. She opens up her purse, a real purse this time, not the weed-filled change purse from earlier, and begins rooting around in it. “I know my wallet’s in here somewhere. Someone grab his attention, please.”

“I will not,” Faraday says icily.

Still buried in her purse, Ethel snorts and nudges her sister. “Honestly, Maria, can you believe we raised a prude?”

So taken aback by her having had the nerve to describe _Joshua Faraday_ as a prude, Goodnight manages to miss it when she manages to flag the dancer’s attention and he comes gliding over.

“Excellent, you’re here!” Ethel flashes a grin that puts Goodnight in mind of a lioness stalking her prey. “How much for a private dance, sweetheart?”

The man blinks at her and raises a dark ebony brow. Then he glances around the table, his dark eyes landing on each of them in turn, making Goodnight shiver when they fall on him. “Is she serious?” He asks finally.

His voice is soft, with very little inflection, but it still manages to send sparks shooting up and down Goodnight’s spine. He’s not sure, but he thinks he gasps a little at the sound.

If the dancer hears him, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he finally lets his gaze come to a rest on Red and gives him a little nod.

“Red.” He says with a slight dip of his chin.

“Billy.” Red replies. “And yes, she is serious.”

Goodnight turns to look at him in mute horror. How dare he actually know who this man is and not warn him beforehand? That was not how friends behaved.

Ignoring Goodnight, Billy looks over at Ethel, smiles, and lists a truly outrageous figure.

Ethel, true to form, merely snorts. “If you weren’t interested, you could have just said so.” She pauses for a second and then adds slyly. “How much if it’s Robicheaux you’re dancing for?”

No longer mute, Goodnight sputters outrageously, choking so badly that Red reaches over and thumps him heavily on the back. “Don’t mind him,” Red tells Billy. “He’s usually a much better conversationalist.”

Looking intrigued, Billy cocks his head and gives Goodnight a smile as he looks him up and down, obviously considering Ethel’s previous suggestion. “Somehow,” he says finally, “I don’t think you’d appreciate it even if you weren’t the one paying.”

“Urk,” says Goodnight, and he feels his face flush. With luck the bizarre lighting in the club will hide it, but there’s no way for him to know.

The beat of the music changes and Billy’s body language goes along with it. “Sorry,” he says with another of those small grins of his. “I’m afraid that’s my cue to leave. Let me know if you want that dance later though.”

He heads off with a wave that he somehow manages to turn into the smallest caress, fingers trailing oh so briefly along Goodnight’s jaw before he’s out of reach and moving across the floor again, his hips swaying as he goes. Goodnight maybe stutters a little.

The table is briefly silent, and then Emma says, “So that happened.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees. “Yes it did.” He turns to look at Goodnight and gives him a smirk. “You enjoying yourself now, Goody?”

Goodnight raises a warning finger at him, even though he knows protesting is probably a lost cause, and huffs out a breath. “Sam Chisolm, so help me god, don’t you start this foolishness.”

“I don’t think it was him who started it,” Vasquez says, sounding remarkably alert for a man who’s tried to drink his own bodyweight in alcohol over the course of the evening.

Goodnight points the warning finger at him. “Now don’t you start. You just … go back to being drunk.”

“I don’t think he’s stopped,” Faraday says, giving Vasquez a fond pat on the shoulder. “It’s just that you’re bein’ so obvious even his booze fogged brain can figure it out.”

Vasquez nods solemnly and jerks his thumb back at Faraday. “What he said.”

“Lord love a duck,” Goodnight groans.

“Oh really now, Goodnight,” Ethel scoffs. “You sound as bad as Joshua now. God as my witness I’m ordering you that dance if we can get him back over again. What’d you say his name was, Red?”

“Billy,” Red repeats. “He and I worked together when I was here. I guess you could say we bonded since we were here for the same reason?”

Goodnight perks up at this. “He’s paying for a Masters?”

“Pretty sure it’s a PHD these days,” Red says, “but close enough.”

“Well good for him,” Goodnight says, “but no lap dances. I mean it! Not from any of you,” he adds, glaring around the table. He takes particular care to stare Ethel down, refusing to break her gaze until she gives an irritated huff.

“Fine,” she says with a sigh as she flings herself back into her chair. “You people are no fun at all.”

“You’re only sayin’ that because you have a whacked out definition of the word fun,” Faraday tells her.

“Oh shut up, Joshua. And get a better grip on Alejandro, will you? If he faceplants onto the floor you’re going to have a hell of a time with your wedding photos.”

*****

The rest of the night passes in something of a blur, but Goodnight is proud to say he successfully manages to avoid having any lap dances thrown his way. He _does_ almost choke on the glass of water he’s sipping from at one point when Billy catches his eye from across the room and gives him a wink, but most of the others are too busy trying to prevent a drunk Vasquez from climbing up on the stage and trying to dance to notice.

Honestly, Red’s probably the only other one sober enough to notice anything at this point, but he’s far too concerned with filming the whole debacle to pay any attention to Goodnight.

When they finally leave the club however many hours later, Goodnight is informed that Red has volunteered to take Ethel and the Marias home and Jack and Leni are getting a cab. This leaves him with Sam, Emma, Faraday and Vasquez to deal with, and Vasquez turns out to require some impressive wrangling.

“How is he this drunk?” Emma grunts from where she has one of Vasquez’s arms slung over her shoulders. “He’s the biggest of the lot of us for Christ’s sake. He should have better tolerance than this.”

“Faraday’s the biggest actually,” Goodnight says from the other side. “Vasquez is taller, but I’d say Joshua has a solid twenty pounds on him.”

“Robicheaux, are you callin’ me fat?” Faraday demands. He and Sam are stumbling along behind the other three, and Goodnight’s honestly not sure at this point which of them is holding the other up.

“I’m just saying you’re impressively built, Joshua, calm down and take it as a compliment.” Goodnight replies.

“Hey you can’t talk to me that way,” Faraday protests. “I’m spoken for, thank you very much.”

“That’s nice, Vasquez can defend your honour if he’s ever sober again,” Goodnight tells him. He fishes his keys out of his pocket one handed and clicks the unlock button. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to see if we can fold him up enough to fit him in the passenger seat.”

“Good luck with that,” Emma says as she pries the newly unlocked door open. “I never realized until tonight that he’s apparently eight feet tall and most of it’s leg.”

Vasquez briefly looks up at her and mutters something in Spanish that Goodnight doesn’t have a hope in hell of translating. Then, the saints be praised, he moves to climb into the car under his own power.

Goodnight looks over at Emma. She’s the most sober after him, but she’s by no means firing on all cylinders. “I assume you’re going in the middle,” he says once he’s managed to grab her attention.

“I figure I’m gonna have to,” she mutters, moving towards the back door of the car. “I don’t think we’ll fit if we try and put Faraday or Sam there.”

“I heard that,” Faraday snaps from somewhere behind them.

“I don’t … why’s he even offended by that?” Goodnight asks.

“Because he’s drunk,” Emma replies, and Goodnight certainly can’t fault her logic.

He’s finally managed to get everyone situated and appropriately buckled in when he happens to glance over the hood of the car and spot someone leaning against the outer wall of the club, idly smoking a cigarette. It only takes one look for him to know who it is.

The light outside the club is no better than it was inside it, but Goodnight doesn’t miss it when Billy quirks an eyebrow at him in recognition. He looks back and forth between Billy and where he has four of his friends waiting for him in his tiny car. Then he makes a decision.

Stuffing his keys back in his coat pocket and closing his door to the car, he ignores Emma’s questioning noise and heads over to where Billy is standing. “You done for the night then?” He asks as he approaches.

Billy takes a long drag of his cigarette and nods. “I close down when the club does,” he says.

“Makes sense,” Goodnight agrees and then falls silent.

“You a friend of Red’s?” Billy asks after the pause has gone on for a little too long.

“Uh, yeah,” Goodnight says, annoyed with the way he’s suddenly tongue-tied. Ask anyone who knows him and they’ll tell you he’s a verbose motherfucker. He rarely if ever finds himself at a loss for words. “Met him through some mutual friends a few years back, specifically two of the drunks sleeping it off in my car right now. They’re getting married soon and we’re all out celebrating.”

Billy grins at this. “Nice of you to volunteer to be the designated driver.”

“Yes, well,” Goodnight shrugs. “I can’t drink. Been on some powerful meds for a while now.” He doesn’t say why, and Billy thankfully neither asks nor starts tripping over himself to apologize. Instead he simply takes the information at face value and nods to show he’s heard.

“So …” Goodnight says. “Red tells me you’re working on a PHD?”

Billy nods. “English lit. Figured it’d be nice to come out of it debt free before I launched myself into a lifetime of academia.”

“Ah. Understandable.” Goodnight searches for something new to say, but Billy thankfully puts him out of his misery.

“Look,” he says with a laugh, “I figure you and I could spend all morning trading stories back and forth, but we’re standing outside of a strip club and you have a bunch of drunks in your car. What’s say we agree to meet up somewhere nicer and leave it at that?”

Goodnight blinks, taken aback, and then grins and decides to meet one turn with another. “Well I’m still in need of a plus one to that wedding I mentioned.”

Billy’s eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. “And here I thought _I_ was being forward. Don’t you think your friends might mind your bringing a man you’ve just met as a date?”

“Please,” Goodnight scoffs. “One of them tried to join you on that stage earlier tonight and the other is the nephew of the two octogenarians who were with us at the table. What do you think?”

Billy’s quiet for a few seconds as he takes another drag of his cigarette and then he smiles. “I think I’m in.”

Goodnight grins. “Wonderful, cher. I’m looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this.


End file.
